Losing a Sister
by Writing Belle
Summary: A story about Prue and Phoebe through the years. I haven't decided the length yet.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Charmed or any of the characters

Chapter 1

When Phoebe was two years old, her mother died.

It was one of those facts that she did not understand at the time. Grams told her; Prue told her; even Andy told her.

But Phoebe did not understand.

She did not know why Piper cried night after night; and she did not know why Grams kept telling Prue that she should cry.

Phoebe did know that she wanted Mommy to say good night. Patty always sang to Phoebe after she had laid her in her crib. She would place her blanket just right and stroke her hair. Sometimes, Phoebe did not want to go to bed. She would sit up and glare—or shout.

Patty always stayed until Phoebe lay down again.

Now—well, now, Phoebe did not understand why Mommy never put her to bed anymore. It made her nervous; it hurt her feelings; it made her wonder, in the vague way that babies wonder, if she should not have shouted on so many nights.

So Phoebe tried to lie down quietly when Grams placed her in her crib each night. She asked for Mommy and hoped that Grams would bring her into the room.

But Grams never did.

So Phoebe cried like Piper did.

One night, she cried long after Grams had given up on quieting her.

Penny Halliwell did not back down from demons or granddaughters—but even she could not hold the line all the time.

So, as Phoebe continued to cry, Penny did not leave the room—she knew that Patty would not have done so. But, she sat in the rocking chair and let her head fall back as her youngest granddaughter's cries filled the room.

She would get up soon and she would pick Phoebe up and soothe her; she would hush her patiently; and she would whisper to her; and do all the things that grandmothers know how to do.

But right now—right now, she was a mother who had lost a daughter and a grandmother who could not get along with her granddaughters' father and a woman in her sixties living with three girls under the age of seven.

Right now, Phoebe had been crying for an hour and Penny felt horrible that she did not know what to do.

Right now, Penny was still holding the line; but she was being beaten.

"Grams?" it was Prue at the doorway.

Penny mustered a smile for her oldest granddaughter.

"What is it, sweetheart?" she asked (half shouting) over Phoebe's continued indignant cries.

"You don't put the blanket right," Prue said.

Penny was taken back as Prue entered the room cautiously. The child's hair was not messy and her outfit was clean and well-chosen—somehow Penny was making sure of that each day. It had become close to a religion for her.

Patty had always brushed her daughters' hair and chosen their outfits.

Penny had told her that it would stifle their independence and limit the girls' trust in their own choices; but Patty always laughed at her.

Now, Penny brushed Prue's hair each morning before doing the same for Piper. She picked their outfits and tried to speak lightly in the face of Prue's stoic set lip and Piper's trembling one. She made breakfast for them each morning too—just like she had done throughout Patty's childhood—just like Patty had done for her dolls until she was eight.

Grams had been choosing red bows this week for Prue.

It was Patty's favorite color when she was a child. Victor thought her favorite color was turquoise—and that was true—but only since she was thirteen.

Prue's red bow was perfectly placed in her hair. Her outfit wasn't mussed in the way that it usually was when Patty came home from work.

She was trying to smile at Penny.

"See?" she asked. She was next to the crib now and had taken the blanket off Phoebe.

She shook it—no small feat since it was half her size—then placed it again on her sister. But, she tucked it under Phoebe's arms as she did so and stroked her hair.

"Mommy always did it like that," she told Penny.

Phoebe appeared to have paused her cries long enough to take in the new state of her bedding.

Then, she hiccupped and started to cry again.

But the cries were quieter now—they were cries that Penny could soothe into sleep.

Prue nodded once and hesitated next to the crib. She reached tentatively towards Phoebe's hair again but jerked her hand back before it reached her sister's head.

"The blanket was wrong," she repeated.

Penny nodded mutely. It was time to return to the line.

"Prue," she said, "Thank you."

The oldest Halliwell daughter looked at her feet. Then, she left the room.

…

_When Phoebe was two years old, Prue fixed her blanket. _


	2. Chapter 2

When Phoebe was three years old, Prue was seven.

Dad left.

Grams had saved for retirement throughout Patty's childhood. She had done very well and could have lived out her grandparent years in comfort.

But a budget for one, or even two, was not quite a budget for four.

Grams began to work, three times a week, part-time, at her old firm.

On those days, the girls had a babysitter.

Her name was Joanne.

Joanne was a student at Berkeley. She always gushed over Phoebe when she arrived at the manor. Then, she placed her in her playpen and watched television.

When Prue and Piper came home from school on those days—always together because Piper did not like to walk alone—Phoebe practically outdid herself jumping up and down to get their attention.

Piper would race to say hi to her and then would race to Joanne to show her whatever she had made in school that day.

Prue sometimes looked outside to see if Andy had made it to his house yet. Other times, she went upstairs to work on her homework. She would wave at Phoebe as she passed.

Phoebe always kept shouting for her anyways.

Sometimes Piper would leave Joanne to play with her. Sometimes she didn't and Joanne would leaver her in her playpen. On those days, Phoebe watched more television.

At five o'clock, Joanne would make dinner. She would set the three plates at the table in the kitchen; place Phoebe in her high-chair; smile at Prue and Piper and leave the room.

The girls would eat whatever had been placed there and Joanne would come back in the kitchen to clean when they were done. She would also let Phoebe out of her high-chair—so that she could place her back in her playpen.

Then she would watch more television.

Phoebe wasn't decisive about many things. She changed her favorite color daily and didn't know if Big Bird was fantastic or scary.

But Phoebe knew that she really didn't like the days that Grams worked.

* * *

After a few weeks at her new babysitting job, Joanne began to notice that Phoebe was not eating her dinner.

She also noticed that Prue would still be in the kitchen when she would come to clean up. Usually, the girl was glaring at her.

Joanne did not let that bother her. In her opinion, Prue was a strange child. She was polite and well-behaved but she was neither cuddly like Phoebe nor sweet like Piper. So, she gave her space and did not try to be her best friend. The role seemed pretty well filled by the neighbor boy anyways.

No; if Prue had picked up a new glaring habit, then that was not something about which Joanne would worry.

But, if Phoebe kept not eating dinner, Mrs. Halliwell would notice—and Joanne had an uneasy feeling that as kind as the grandmother seemed, she did not want to see her unhappy.

So, she started trying to get Phoebe to eat. She would lift the fork and make airplane noises; she would re-heat the food; she would scold, wheedle, and coax.

Her television time took quite a hit.

Phoebe had one blanket response to all her efforts, however: "No."

Each night as Joanne made a fool of herself trying to get the three-year-old to eat, Prue would stand at the counter with her arms crossed—initially glaring and eventually smirking.

Finally, Joanne decided that she would have to sit at the table while the girls ate.

When she pulled out an extra chair that Wednesday night, Piper started apprehensively. That was Joanne's first clue—Piper was always thrilled by attention and company.

Her next clue was slightly more direct.

Prue crossed her arms.

"You don't eat in here," she said.

"Prue, when I am babysitting, I am in charge," Joanne replied in surprise.

"I am joining you for dinner tonight," she added with increased firmness.

Prue's eyebrows furrowed.

Piper scooted her chair closer to Phoebe's high-chair.

Joanne met Prue's gaze unwaveringly.

"Sit down, Prue," she ordered.

To her surprise, Phoebe looked upset at her words.

"No, no, Prue!" the toddler demanded, banging her shelf with her fork.

Prue crossed her arms.

"Phoebe's not eating that," she said defiantly.

Whatever Joanne had been expecting from the girl, it was not that.

"Hot dogs and mashed potatoes?" she asked incredulously.

"Yes," Prue's response was bit out through clenched teeth.

"Ok…" Joanne felt as though she was still catching up, "Why not?"

"Phoebe likes macaroni and cheese."

"Well, she seemed like she liked mashed potatoes until a few days ago."

Prue puffed out her chest. "That's because I wasn't making her anything. Now that I make her macaroni, she likes that."

"You?" Joanne was now more confused than before, "You've been making macaroni for Phoebe?"

"Dinner! Dinner! Dinner!" Phoebe appeared to have changed her chant.

Joanne mentally noted that the toddler had a future as a political protestor.

Aloud, she said, "Prue, that's dangerous."

It was the wrong thing to say. Prue's back stiffened and her jaw set. Piper spoke up.

"It's so Phoebe has something special," she said.

"Something special?"

Prue spoke again.

"You make her bored all day," she accused, "Macaroni makes her happy".

On cue, Phoebe began again: "Macaroni! Macaroni!"

"Bored?" Joanne sputtered.

Piper appeared very interested in the table cloth but her eyes darted towards Phoebe and then towards Prue.

"You never play with her," she whispered in support of her sisters.

Prue's glare increased in intensity—Joanne hadn't thought that was possible.

"So she doesn't eat your stupid dinner," the oldest said defiantly, "I make her a better one instead."

Joanne opened her mouth; then she snapped it shut as she gathered her next words.

Prue looked triumphant.

"And it's not dangerous for me," she added for good measure.

Joanne mentally recalculated her approach.

"Alright," she gave in, "starting tomorrow, how about you help me make dinner? You can show me how to make this macaroni for Phoebe."

Piper broke out into a grin.

Prue appeared less sure.

"I already made it for tonight," she said finally.

Joanne nodded.

"Ok," she responded.

Prue disappeared behind the counter and returned with a bowl that Joanne now realized had been hidden behind the toaster.

The older sister placed it in front of Phoebe. She glared once more at Joanne.

"Prue! Prue! Prue!" Phoebe chanted.

_When Phoebe was three years old, Prue made her dinner. _


	3. Chapter 3

When Phoebe was eight years old, she loved school.

She was the only girl in the third grade who could get across the monkey bars while upside down; her teacher constantly told her that she was "adorable"; and she had been in a happy marriage to Danny Anderson for three weeks—ever since Simon Alster had performed the ceremony on the playground (His dad was a minister so he knew all the words).

But, one thing made Phoebe unhappy at school.

Piper never wanted to go in the morning and she was always sad at the end of the day.

This troubled Phoebe. Prue didn't go to school with them anymore. She was in junior high now. So, there was only Phoebe to look out for Piper. She took this very seriously.

Piper was her sister too after all; and Phoebe was sure that Prue was counting on her—even if she had never actually told her that.

It was more an unspoken communication between sisters—Phoebe felt.

Piper was sweet. She didn't shout at mean people, nor did she glare at them until they were scared like Prue did. Her hair was very big; Phoebe knew that this was one of the things that made her sad. She had told Piper that she liked her even if her hair was ugly.

She learned that this was the wrong thing to say. Piper had started crying and Grams had made Phoebe go to her room.

Then Phoebe had cried too because she hadn't meant to hurt Piper's feelings. She just wanted her to know that she liked her.

Piper was the best at using their Easy-Bake Oven; she was the best at keeping anyone company when they were sick; and she was the best at getting Prue and Phoebe out of trouble with Grams.

She always whispered her jokes but she was really funny.

She was also the co-owner of Socks—the cat that she and Phoebe secretly fed in their backyard. No one knew about Socks except for Piper and Phoebe.

To Phoebe, Piper was one of her three favorite people in the entire world. She thought that if she could tell her that she didn't care about her ugly hair, then maybe Piper wouldn't care about her hair either, and she would like school too. Maybe she would even play on the monkey bars with Phoebe when their classes had recess at the same time. When she was younger, she had taught Phoebe all her tricks.

But now, school made Piper sad; and Phoebe didn't like that. Today was one of the days when the fifth grade had recess at the same time as the third grade. Phoebe had already played hopscotch with Danny; but then he had gone to play with his friends.

Usually, this made Phoebe mad. For a married man, Danny spent far too many recesses with his friends.

But today, she hadn't cared as much.

She was watching Piper.

The older girl was all alone at the playground's one picnic table. She was scuffing the ground with her foot and staring at her fingernails.

Phoebe chewed her lip just a little too hard. She wasn't doing as good a job as she knew Prue would do.

She crossed her arms in imitation of her oldest sister and looked for Diana. Diana had been Piper's best friend since kindergarten. Phoebe just had to find her and Piper would be happy.

Suddenly, Phoebe brightened. She could see Diana playing Four-Square with three other girls not too far from Piper.

Piper liked Four-Square. Phoebe knew that she would like to play.

Quickly, she got up from where she had been sitting in the grass and ran over to the fifth-graders.

One of the girls playing with Diana smiled at her as she approached.

"Look how cute!" she exclaimed.

Phoebe grinned. She didn't like when her sisters' friends babied her. But she knew that she could get her way when they did; so she didn't mind using it now and then. She would use it for Piper.

The sister in question had also looked up when Phoebe approached and widened her eyes in apprehension.

Phoebe turned her mega-watt grin on her.

"It's ok," she tried to tell with her eyes, "I'm going to make it better."

She decided that Piper didn't understand her eyes because the latter still looked upset.

She turned back to the Four-Square girls.

"Hi, Diana!" she said cheerfully.

"Hi, Phoebe," the older girl answered hesitatingly.

Phoebe's eyes narrowed. Diana didn't sound happy.

"You know her?" asked the girl who thought Phoebe was cute.

"Yeah," Diana still didn't sound enthusiastic, "She lives close to me."

Now Phoebe's eyes narrowed fully.

"She's best friends with my sister," she extrapolated for the girl.

Diana's face whitened like Grams' did when her admirer came to give her flowers each year.

"Who's your sister?" asked the girl.

"Piper Halliwell!" Phoebe replied excitedly.

Ever since Prue started middle-school, she often said that she "wanted to sink into the floor". Phoebe thought that this was what both Diana and Piper looked like now.

She wished they knew that she was going to fix things.

"Piper Halliwell?" the girl repeated.

"Yep," Phoebe replied "You forgot to invite her to play with you. See? She's right over there!"

She pointed for all the girls' benefit.

"PHOEBE!" Piper found her voice.

She looked really mad.

The talkative girl started to laugh. Phoebe's back stiffened in response; it was a mean laugh.

"You're friends with that loser?" the girl asked Diana.

"Hey!" Phoebe was angry. This was not working out as planned.

Piper still looked furious but now her lips had disappeared like they always did when she was trying not to cry.

"Umm…" Diana seemed unsure how to respond.

"Yes, she is," Phoebe made sure the girl was looking at her again, "And I don't like you."

The girl just laughed again.

"Well, Diana," she said, "You must be a loser too."

"Hey!" Phoebe shouted, "Quit calling people that!"

The girl looked Phoebe up and down.

"I'm not friends with her anymore," Diana spoke up.

The girl's attention swung back to the other fifth-grader. So did Phoebe's.

"No?" the girl asked.

"No," Diana said more certainly.

"You're a liar, Diana Caswell," Phoebe stomped her foot, "and I don't like you either."

Four-Square girl ignored Phoebe and looked over at Piper.

"What's the matter, Nerd?" she asked, "Going to cry? When did you hire your bodyguard?"

"I'm not her bodyguard! I'm her sister!" Phoebe felt like she was going to cry too.

Nothing was better now and Piper looked more miserable than ever.

The girl sized up Phoebe again.

"Too bad you're not a zoo-keeper," she finally said, "Then, you could groom that hair."

Phoebe tackled her.

* * *

Four hours later, Piper was furious. No, she was beyond furious.

"Why couldn't you stay away?!" she shouted at Phoebe as the door to the Manor slammed behind them.

These were her first words since recess. She hadn't spoken to her younger sister during the entire walk from school—Phoebe had to run to even keep pace with her.

"Piper? What's wrong?" Grams entered the hallway from the kitchen, worried by the shouting.

Her middle granddaughter's face was flushed and she appeared to be on the verge of tears. She turned to look at Penny.

"I don't want to talk about it," she said before running up the stairs.

The sound of another slamming door told Penny that she had reached her room. She sighed and turned to Phoebe.

"What happened?" she demanded.

"I don't want to talk about it either," Phoebe whispered.

Penny immediately kneeled so as to be on the same level as the girl. She took her chin in her hand and pulled her face towards her. It was only then that she realized that this granddaughter was close to tears as well.

"Phoebe, what happened?" she asked more gently.

She nearly fell as Phoebe threw herself into her grandmother. Hot arms circled her neck as the little girl cried into her shoulder.

Penny barely caught the words, "'Diana', 'horrible', and 'tried to help' ".

"Ok," she soothed, "it's ok."

Phoebe disentangled herself from Penny slowly.

"I hate Diana and I hate that girl," she said tremblingly.

"Phoebe Halliwell!" Penny admonished.

Phoebe met her gaze defiantly.

"They were mean to Piper," she stated.

"Oh, I see," Penny responded.

She grasped Phoebe's chin again.

"But you still can't use the word, 'hate'," she told her seriously.

Phoebe looked at her shoes petulantly.

Penny smiled grimly.

"But you can say that you dislike them very, very, very much," she told her.

Phoebe looked up again as Penny offered her hand.

"Come on," she coaxed the girl, "we'll get a snack in the kitchen and you can tell me everything I need to know about these girls."

Now, Phoebe grinned.

* * *

That night, Prue got home late.

She had made the varsity cheerleading squad at the middle-school so she didn't get home until 8 PM on practice days.

She figured that Grams could deal with that since she had to be home exactly at 3:30 PM on Mondays and Wednesdays to babysit her sisters.

She shut the kitchen door carefully—the longer no one knew she was home, the longer she could have a little quiet.

It was an awful feeling—being stuck. She vaguely remembered that her dad would have called it "being placed between a rock and a hard place".

But he wasn't her dad—he hadn't been for a long time. And Prue was just going to say "stuck".

The door cooperated, squeaking only slightly as it shut. Prue slipped off her shoes and opened the fridge.

She could give up babysitting her sisters; and Grams would hire another Joanne who meant well but would not notice when Piper needed comfort or when Phoebe was restless.

Or she could continue babysitting them; and give up two afternoons that every other seventh-grader used for friends and fun.

Prue scowled.

Yes, Grams could deal with the 8 PM practice days.

The lights flashed on suddenly, flooding the kitchen and startling her away from the fridge.

"Prudence Halliwell! Where have you been?!" a high voice demanded.

For an absurd moment, Prue thought that Grams had shrunk.

Then she realized that it was her youngest sister, hands on her hips in the classic Halliwell pose, looking for all the world as though she could mete out a grounding.

"Where—have—you—been?" Phoebe repeated fiercely.

Prue ran a hand through her hair and opened the fridge again.

"Geez, Phoebe," she complained, "I thought you were Grams. What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me? What's wrong with me?!" Phoebe was indignant, "Everything's wrong with me and you haven't been here!"

There it was.

Prue reached into the fridge.

"I'm not always going to be here, Phoebe," she grumbled, "I have a life."

She shoved the cream cheese viciously into a shelf corner.

Phoebe pulled out a chair at the kitchen table.

"Yeah, and while you have a life, I'm being 'very zealous' ".

Out of the corner of her eye, Prue could see that Phoebe had made air quotes.

She tried not to laugh—she wanted to keep wallowing in her "stuck" feeling—she had a right to that.

She pulled out a bag of carrots, leaned against the counter and started to munch—silently.

"Over-zealous!" Phoebe repeated.

The kid was not going to be ignored.

"Alright, Phoebe," Prue rolled her eyes, "I'll ask. Why are you overly zealous?"

"I don't know!" The eight-year-old was distressed again, "Grams told me that I was and that it wasn't a bad thing but I should restrain myself and I don't even know what I'm supposed to be restraining—can I have a carrot?"

"No," Prue rejected shortly.

Phoebe gave an obligatory glare; then, she continued.

"How can I be overly zealous when all I'm trying to do is help?" she complained.

"Phoebe," Prue placed the ziplock bag on the counter, "did you try and paint the Manor again?"

"Grams said the house needed to be repainted!" Phoebe couldn't believe that Prue was bringing this up.

"Phoebe!" Prue whisper-shouted, "I thought we went over this. Professional house-painters! Not you! Now we have a big yellow stain on the left side of the house—"

"It wasn't my fault that I wasn't big enough to do the whole job!" Phoebe protested.

"—And who knows what we have now," Prue continued as if uninterrupted, "Did you try a different color? Did you try the yellow again?"

"I DIDN'T—"

Before Phoebe could finish, Prue had sprung across the counter and clamped a hand over her mouth.

Phoebe mumbled vehemently against her palm.

"Shhhh," Prue hissed, "Do you want Grams to come down here?! You're already in trouble and I'm not in the mood and—OUCH!"

Prue sprang away, nursing her bitten hand.

Phoebe licked her lips gingerly.

"I didn't try to paint the house," she whispered, "I tried to stand up for Piper."

Prue looked up from her hand, the bite forgotten.

"Why did she need you to do that?" she asked.

Phoebe crossed her arms.

"Because you're not there and it's my job now; except that I ruined it all and I think I made things worse; and Piper won't talk to me," she explained in a rush.

She eyed her oldest sister warily, afraid that she would yell now that the explanation had finally been given.

Instead, Prue gave a deep sigh and pulled out the chair across from Phoebe.

"The girls in Piper's class suck," she commiserated.

Phoebe looked at her sister with a little more confidence.

"Grams says that I'm not supposed to hate them," she admitted, "But I kind of do anyways."

Prue traced a pattern on the table with her finger.

"Who was it?" she asked.

"Diana," Phoebe spit the name as though it were poisonous.

Prue's face tensed.

"Piper's Diana?" she asked sharply.

Phoebe nodded.

"But I think it was because she was afraid of this other girl," she admitted, "The other girl really sucked."

"Phoebe!" Prue scolded.

"You said it first!"

Prue rolled her eyes.

"I'm in seventh grade," she explained imperiously.

Now, Phoebe rolled her eyes.

"So, Diana's not her friend anymore," Prue summarized.

Phoebe sighed.

"No."

"Phoebe," Prue ran a hand through her hair again, "Kids get mean when they're older. We can't fix everything for Piper."

Phoebe's eyes began to well.

"You would have," she whispered.

Prue started.

"I've never fixed anything," she protested.

Phoebe's eyes widened.

"Of course you have! You're Prue!"

Prue looked at her hands.

"What does that even mean?" she asked.

"If you had seen Piper sitting all alone on the playground and the other girls playing, you would have known what to say to make them let her play. You always know what to say and Piper still talks to you afterwards; but I'm not good at being you."

"Phoebe," Prue said gently, "You shouldn't want to be me. I never know what to say. I just improvise.

Phoebe suddenly glared at her.

"You never taught me to improvise," she accused.

"Phoebe, that would defeat the point of improvising."

"I don't understand."

Prue sighed.

"Phoebe, you and Piper always need me to listen to you. But I'm not a good listener. I'm a good fixer—except that I'm not because I only fix the top layer. Do you know what I mean?"

Phoebe shook her head.

"Sometimes, I open my mouth and I have absolutely no idea what I'm saying. I'm just jumping in to defend Piper or give you advice and there's no one to tell me if I'm doing it right. I think some people—like Piper or you—have some type of intuition that tells you what to say—but I never know because I don't have that. So, the exact thing that you think makes 'Prue' so great, just means that I suck at everything real."

Prue felt the tightening in her throat and hated herself for it. She didn't know why Phoebe could bring out this side in her. With Piper, she could share secrets about boys and her frustration with Grams—she could hit a comfortable middle note. But, with Phoebe, it was always all or nothing. Either they stuck to banter or she wound up admitting things that she didn't even know she felt.

A small hand placed over hers made her look up.

"Prue, you don't suck," Phoebe told her seriously.

Prue choked on a chuckle.

"I thought we agreed you wouldn't use that word."

"We didn't agree," Phoebe told her matter-of-factly, "You just went back to talking about Piper."

"You're something; you know that, Phoebe?"

"Yeah. Remember? I'm over-zealous."

Now Prue did laugh.

"I can't be Mom," she told Phoebe, "And I want to be because that's what you and Piper need; and she would know how to make the girls be nice to Piper for more than a day. But, every time I try, I remember that she's not here and that hurts. So, I also don't want to be like her; and—"

Phoebe interrupted.

"We don't want you to be Mom," she whispered, "I don't even know what that would be like."

Prue cursed herself for her carelessness.

"I'm sorry, Phoebe," she apologized.

Phoebe continued doggedly.

"We just want you to be Prue. And maybe you don't know what that means, but I do."

"What does it mean?"

"Prue's my big sister."

Prue started at the simplicity of the answer.

Phoebe shrugged.

"I told you that I try to be like you," she said.

Prue sighed.

"And I'm telling you that's silly. You'll be better at standing up for Piper if you're you."

Phoebe grinned a shaky grin.

"Will you teach me how to improvise?" she asked.

…

_When Phoebe was eight-years-old_, _Prue taught her to improvise_—_even thought it did defeat the point. _


End file.
